I don't know what it was about that cold night along Route 14 on the way to Sturgis. All creatures great, and near great, were out and inquisitive along that mountain route.

It all started when an opossum wiggled its ugly butt into my trajectory. Hell, it was a black hole of a night and it was tough avoiding it. But around the next curve, I was happier to have missed a damn skunk than that opossum. I regret nearly running over the critters, but hey, I share the road whenever I can. And animals are a lot softer on a rider and his machine than, say, a drive shaft in the road.

And I really didn't mind the bison near Yellowstone that seemed unduly interested in me. Although his tail went up and I could feel his breath, the huffing brute let me by.

But I did mind the cow. The road signs that announce Open Range don't do justice to reality. A contented cow chewing her cud in the middle of the road was, in addition to all the other beasts out meandering that night, a bit bizarre. Who opened the gates to the zoo? I've never seen an accessories catalogue offering a cowcatcher.

Now, I'm as much of an animal lover as the average person, but encountering representatives of such diverse wildlife during one trip along one road in one night, what's the statistical chance of that happening?

The munching cow stared at me as I rolled towards her in first gear. Holding my breath, I imagined I saw in her wide eyes a complaint about the arrogance of a motorcyclist cruising her personal grazing space. As I got closer, I slowed, as if apologetic for the intrusion. She turned around and mooned me.

This first appeared in Street Bike Magazine, 1998, Volume 7, Issue 8